


Silent Night

by Sookiestark



Series: Three Baratheon Ghost Stories for Christmas [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 14:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookiestark/pseuds/Sookiestark
Summary: Myrcella seeking comfort on a cold winter's night in the Red Keep.





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a mix between show and books. However, Myrcella is show age, not book age. 
> 
> Yes- it is a reference to Silent Night, the Christmas carol.

She comes to her most nights. She has started to try and stop because, even though she is careful to not wake the Queen, sometimes it seems to disturb her sleep. In the firelight of the darkened room, as she enters, Queen Cersei will appear serene and peaceful in her nightly repose. Suddenly, as if the Queen senses her presence, a furrow will cross her sleeping brow and she will thrash about. Sometimes, she will call out her name, never waking, haunted by dreams. Mother always said she could feel their thoughts, know their minds, even if they were out of sight. Maybe, she was right. Maybe, a mother can always know when her children are near, some strange telepathic bond or a gift from the Mother herself bestowed to mortal women.

Myrcella usually doesn’t have this effect on the living. They walk about the Red Keep busy with their own mortal concerns, hands full of paper, dishes, buckets, shovels, brooms. As she plays in the hallways, she watches the ladies sew and the women spin. They all sail about her wrapped up in the sweetness and pain of living. She watches them pass during the day all never noticing her. 

 

There is one scullery maid in the Red Keep who sees her, clear as day. She will smile toward her and if they are alone, the woman will whisper, “My Lady, you should head toward the light and rest.” Myrcella has tried to speak to this woman but it seems as if anything she says to the woman cannot be heard. Perhaps, words of the ghost are empty, soundless to the living. This maid is the only one who can see her and Myrcella avoids her.

She saw Uncle Jaime before he rode off on his horse. He looked troubled but she had been so glad to see him that she had wrapped her arms around him, “Uncle Jaime” she had said kissing his stubbled cheek. 

Realizing her mistake and remembering the last time she had talked with him, she had spoken again, “Father.”

He had not noticed her at all. Instead, he had climbed into the saddle with Widow’s Wail on his hip and rode out of the Red Keep, never looking back. Myrcella had wondered to herself where he was going and when he would return. She had stood in the yard thinking about that as the first snow of winter fell around her. 

 

She doesn't know how much time passes. Time is not a thing she understands anymore. It is like hunger and desire. It has all passed now and seems so foreign. But she knows not too much time has passed. After all, she still knows who she is and who she loved. Sometimes, she can still almost remember what it was like to be among the living

She misses the ache in her stomach when she would first wake. The pull of fruit and oats with cream or the delicious smell of crispy bacon with biscuits and how good it was to break her fast. She misses Trystane and wonders how beautiful their future would have been. She can still remember his kisses and how she trembled from the heat and the burn. He would have loved her well.

She doesn't know why she is still here and when she will leave. Perhaps, she waits for someone. At first, she thought it might be Trystane but now she does not think it is him. 

There are many ghosts in the Red Keep. Some are possessed with an idea or something that they never could finish. She sometimes sees them like the plump pretty woman who wrings her hands and cries for Jaehaerys or the Mad King with his long yellowed beard and eyes full of unseen things, screaming for all of them to be burned. It does not help to try and talk to these apparitions. They cannot hear or see her. They are trapped in their regret or ambition. 

There are some ghosts she can speak to. Often, these are the ones cavorting about as if they were still alive, jousting, dancing, riding. Every night there is a huge ball in the Red Keep for these ghosts and every day a tourney. She thinks these ghosts are almost as tragic as the others and she tries to avoid them, as well. 

Once, when she had first arrived at the Red Keep in her new form, Myrcella had gone out to the ghostly tourney. It was among the ghosts at the Tourney she saw her Father, King Robert's ghost. Robert was young, a person she had never seen before. He was dark-haired, bright-eyed and so handsome. She had been drifting past, admiring the ghostly banners and pageantry when she had heard a voice, "My Lady, why do you look so sad? Come and watch me ride out. Perhaps, I could wear your token and name you Queen of Love and Beauty. You are too lovely to be so sad..”

She had turned to look at who was speaking to her. As the handsome knight smiled a stunning smile, she noticed this young knight had a Warhammer just like her Father had. Looking at his face, she had seen the truth of it. This was Robert Baratheon, the man she called Father, the man who had overthrown the Targaryens. She had spoken, “Father, it is me, Myrcella..” 

His face changed from the shock of two sudden realizations; that the girl he had thought to woo was his daughter and she was dead. For a second, he reverted to the fat and red-faced man she had loved once. Robert had spoken, touching her face, “Myrcella, my girl, what has happened?”

“Many things, Your Grace.”

“Come watch. There is a box for the Royal Court in the stands. Watch and later we can speak. First, I must unhorse Redwyne. This time, I shall. Go to the box and we will speak of this later at the feast.” He had hugged her tightly, his voice thick with emotion.

She had drifted away, never looking back. She did not want to watch and she did not want to tell the story again. Myrcella never went back there but she knew Robert would be there still. Sometimes, she wondered if Tommen was here and where he might be. Perhaps, he had found the light and went on to the Seven Heavens. She hoped he had.

Myrcella had not seen Joffrey and she hoped not ever to see him. 

 

At night, she goes to her Mother’s room. She does not like her Mother during the day, tight-lipped and raging, on the Iron Throne. She does not like that black steel mess. Instead, she finds her Mother later in her rooms, as she sleeps. 

 

Myrcella remembers her as the most beautiful woman with long golden hair, flowing down her back, her green eyes full of light, and her arms always gentle. Now, her Mother’s hair is short and her eyes have no more light but Myrcella would know her even if she looked nothing like before. Myrcella can hear her heartbeat. It was the first one she ever heard. It might have been the first thing she ever heard. It is her Mother and Myrcella loves her still.

On these cold winter nights, Myrcella curls next to her mother in her big empty bed to listen to her breath, her head resting against her mother’s chest. Whatever comfort and rest a spirit can have, Myrcella finds it here with her Mother.

 

One time, she had laid with Trystane under the canopy of trees at the Water Gardens and listened to his heartbeat in the afternoon heat. He had told her of his Norvoshi mother and how she had left her children after Quentyn was fostered. Myrcella had spoken, laughing gently, “What a peculiar thing to do! To leave all you love in order to no longer be hurt by it.”

Myrcella knew her mother would never do such a thing. If someone threatened to take or hurt her children, she knew Cersei would fight harder. Even in the heat of the sun and the sweet warmth of Trystane’s arms, Myrcella had wondered what plots her mother was hatching to get her back to King’s Landing. As if he could sense her thoughts, he had taken her hand in his in the warm sunlight and kissed it. At that moment, she had made a wish to the Seven to let her be a Princess until the end of her days. She had wanted to marry him and be the Princess of Dorne, ruling beside him in this beautiful happy place, never returning to King’s Landing. The Seven chose to listen to her. Instead of a bright happy future, she died. Still, she died a Princess, so perhaps the Gods listened. 

Myrcella feels an unfamiliar ache and wonders is it loneliness or sadness. Sometimes, she still needs comfort. She wonders when that will fade away, as well. 

On this night, Myrcella’s presence does not seem to bother her Mother. Instead, it almost is as if she is smiling. Her mother’s face softens and in the darkened light, Myrcella sees her Mother, sweet and lovely once more. 

Outside, the snow falls gently on King’s Landing. Though the cold wind rattles against the windows of Maegor’s Holdfast, she is safe in her Mother’s arms on this silent winter’s night.


End file.
